In at the Eye
by Dannemund
Summary: SS Stella Cary has various adventures around Nuka-World, with stellar companionship provided by Porter Gage. A short exploration of characters, will probably run a few more chapters. Rated M for swearing, general raider shenanigans, some sexual content.
1. Weak

Note: For fun, an attempt at capturing the unique character of Porter Gage. Hope it works well.

* * *

Stella remembered Nuka-World. How could she not?

But, seriously?

To _hell_ with the place.

"Goddamn fucking bloodworms, I'll fucking poison this whole fucking place, FUCK!"

Gage was watching her, chuckling under his breath as Stella dropped onto the hay bales in Dry Rock Gulch. She grabbed her leg where the last bloodworm had bitten her, cursing the fucking things to Hell, and peeled back the chaps of the Western outfit she'd taken off a mannequin.

"Well, now," Gage said, making a breathy noise. "Didn't think a little bite would do you in, boss. Guess I'd better go dig a hole."

"Shut the fuck up," Stella grumbled, squeezing the wound. Oozing bloodworm venom. She made a less-than-impressive whimper, leaning back against the building and closing her eyes. Her stomach was roiling already. Fuck, she could handle all kinds of blood and gore, but this―this _nasty_ yellow spit―she made a face. _Fucking bloodworms!_

"You need a hand?"

"Probably," she muttered, swallowing hard. "Venom." Her hand flapped at her leg, weakly.

A rustle of fabric and a creaking board. Gage's hands went to her thigh, without warning, grabbing the exposed flesh and squeezing as hard as she'd ever felt. Stella's eyes popped open and she punched out, smashing him in the face―

The eye patch he wore connected with her knuckles, but his head didn't move. _"Fuck!"_ she hissed, embarrassed and nauseous. "Sorry, Gage―"

Her hand started to bleed. He said nothing but moved his hands back to her thigh and squeezed again, just as hard. After a moment, he nodded. "You'll live, boss."

Stella looked at the gloves, crackling and peeling from the cloth backing. "Cheap as fuck leather," she grumbled, stripping them off and examining her skin.

Much as she knew Gage would understand and probably not give a shit about her hitting him, she did feel the flush of blood to her face. Fucking beast of a guy like that might take her apart if she didn't stay on his good side. She didn't want to find out, either. Not after all that shit with Colter.

And―goddammit, she didn't need to make any more enemies, not after what happened in the _Commonwealth―_

"Remind me to ask more clear-like, next time," Gage muttered. He lit a cigarette, his lone hazel eye considering the Protectron nearby.

"In my experience, assholes grabbing at legs like that only means one thing," she shot back, jabbing herself with a stimpak and trying not to feel defensive. "That or they're trying to pickpocket me. You're not the type for either, I think."

Gage's mouth twitched. He made a low rumbling noise in his throat, but didn't turn to face her. Whatever, she thought, trying to put the bad thoughts out of her mind. This was _not_ the time or place for it. Needed to deal with the stupid Mine, still.

"You don't know that," he said, hooking a corner of his mouth up into a half-smile. "I'd gladly take that expensive rifle you got."

Stella breathed out, looking up at him with slitted eyes. "Cold dead hands," she said, "would be the _last_ of your worries."

Gage laughed, pitching the cigarette. "What we doin' now, boss?"

"Head up to the Mine, clear it out. Fucking _tired_ of this shit. But..." She pushed herself up from the hay, groaning. "Job's a job."

"You ain't regrettin' becomin' the Overboss, are you?"

"Hell, no," Stella said, pushing her rifle strap over her shoulder and wiping her nose. "I'm tired and I'm hungry, and your attitude is not helping, Gage."

"I got your back," he replied, nodding somberly. The fading light caught his eye, though. Seemed like he enjoyed a little back-and-forth, sometimes.

"Aren't you _sweet,"_ Stella sniped. "C'mon, asshole."

Gage chuckled again, walking along behind her as she moved toward Mad Mulligan's Mine.

* * *

Boss was screeching like a pack of feral ghouls. Gage winced at the sheer volume of her shrieks. She'd give him a headache if she didn't calm herself down. He moved 'long the edge of a wall, firing at a bloodworm and trying to suss out why she was so noisy.

Stella slipped on a pile Brahmiluff shit as she tried to dodge the gaping mouths, falling onto her ass in a pile of gore left behind by the monsters. She put a hand down to push herself up and fell again, landing on her shoulder and shrieking again. Gage put a round in the thing's eye.

Maybe she was scared of the things. He hadn't seen her flinch yet, but there was bound to be something that got her all riled up. Even he wasn't too fond of some things―mole rats, fucking hated them, the bugs, fuck the bugs.

Reloaded, casually strolling up to Stella and looking down at her. "Hope you don't mind me not helpin' you up," he said, slightly amused.

"How did Colter not throttle you to death, Gage?" she shot back, making disgusted noises as she pried herself out of the aftermath of a bloodworm brood.

"Dunno," he replied, lightheartedly. "Maybe it's my sparklin' personality. Sure he had reasons."

Stella stopped halfway up from the ground, one hand jammed into a pile of shit and blood, and looked up at him. A split second later, she burst into laughter, shaking her head as she moved up from the pile of gore.

Now that, that was a nice sound. An honest-to-God laugh, from the boss. Maybe he was hitting a little too hard with his jabs, he didn't know, but she ought not have busted up that hard.

"You really are something else," she said, when she'd stopped _giggling_ at him.

Gage watched her without replying. Had the laconic look down too pat for him not to use it when he really had nothing to say.

"Oh, this is just..." Stella groaned, and tried to wipe her hand on her pants. "Fucking great, and those things are going to smell me now for sure. Fuck me all to hell."

Gage nodded, absently. Looked around them, made sure nothing was left. Didn't get to be where he was by leaving all the good shit behind.

"Uh, the flag should be somewhere over there," she said, gesturing vaguely and making a gagging noise. "I think we should go back to the Grille, first."

"You can't smell any worse than I do, boss," Gage commented, moving away and toeing the remains of the Brahmiluff.

"You might not bathe often but I don't want to get bit again!" Stella's eyes were on him, narrowed and her mouth set into a grim line. "They aren't exactly fun to fight!"

Snorted, shook his head. "There you go again, complainin'," he said. "Thought you was tougher than that shit."

A wet and slightly warm piece of torn muscle flew at him, hitting him in the elbow. Gage blinked. The _hell?_

"There's a big difference being being tough and being weak," she said, when he turned to look at her. Her mouth was pinched-in, looked angry. "You got where _you_ are by being smart and tough and all that shit, that's _fine._ I got my _own_ ways, and just because I don't want to go traipsing about this fucking place wearing purée of Brahmiluff doesn't make me _weak!"_

Stella snapped her mouth shut and glared at him with all her worth. Tense. Felt pretty tight. Gage made a low rumbling noise in his throat. Stared at her. All riled up, still. Something up, he couldn't tell what.

"Look, boss, we might be on the wrong foot here," he said, after a moment. "You got the big boots, I'm just here to sweep shit 'fore you step in it. That's all."

"By making _fun_ of me?" she asked, her eyes flashing. Could've sworn there was ice growing in the air, 'bout as mad as she was.

"I'm sure I ain't got that intention," he answered. "It ain't smart."

"Yeah, no shit," she spat. Kept glaring at him with cold in her eyes.

"Got no beef going back to the Grille," he said, exasperated. "That's what you want, boss, that's what we'll do."

"Better fucking not," Stella muttered, breezing past him.

There was that walk. Big bitch boss, large and in charge. Gage smiled to himself, ambling along after her. Wasn't the first time he'd worked for someone turning moods on a whim.

This whole thing was starting to look like a _real_ good decision.


	2. Nothin'

Boss had gone off, who knew or cared where so long as she showed back up. Wasn't like he'd go anywhere. Nowhere he'd rather be, really.

Gage settled on the couch to wait. Had hisself a Nuka-Cola, actually. Relaxed a little. Would've been nice to take off his boots, for once. Knew better than that, though. Last time he let hisself relax that much... _Shit._

Talked 'bout that with the boss. Her flashing them baby blues at him, laughing at his being a dumb kid. Got the feeling she knew all too well about being a dumb, way she acted about the matter. Knew enough to poke fun but not grind it in. Hell, he...

Gage chuckled to hisself. He knew she knew more than she let on. Picked up new bits here and there, but she knew. Wasn't like she hadn't licked the Raiders right off, shut them down with her fancy words. She knew as well he did, sweet talking folks.

She liked the fight. Could see it in her eyes. Taking what she wanted, doing what she pleased. He looked down, considering the empty bottle of soda. Was a little funny. All these years he'd been 'round, hadn't had a chance to work for someone worth it. Just a bunch of lazy gangs, up to this point.

His mouth twitched. The whole of it made him think a little harder 'bout what he did. 'Bout hisself. 'Bout Porter Gage, who he was. Wasn't usual for him. Hadn't had the time, before.

Who was Stella Cary? That was the name she gave, weren't too many folk out there with proper names like theirs. Hadn't said a word to each other 'bout that, the past. He liked that about the woman. Didn't pester. Much.

Got him to thinking 'bout her little spat in the Mine. Why she was acting weak-like. 'Bout that big bitch walk of hers, how much fun she was.

 _Well, shit._

Stella was definitely a woman. Might not have as full a figure as some but she knew her business. Walking about like she owned the place―and she did, hell, he just liked the way she looked showing she was cock of the walk―

The soft steps she made trying to convince the Operators to work with her, pretending to be ignorant of their ways. Let them think they were in charge until she pulled a rug out from under, just to show them she was wise. The tough stride going into the amphitheater, asserting dominance over the Pack. Knowing how to make herself look like she was something to fear. Loose movements around the Disciples. Didn't get rigid, stayed like water, shifting and always staying far enough away.

Yeah, she knew what she was doing.

Gage wondered where she'd gone. She'd wrapped up everything but talking to Shank. Wondered if she'd gone to talk. Said she could give a fuck about that, but she might've changed her mind.

The doors opened. Gage looked over, saw the boss coming in. She leaned one hand on the door frame and pulled off her jacket, ran her hands over her hair and stumbled a few steps as she lost her balance.

Hell, if she wasn't drunk. Gage turned his attention back onto the view in the Grille, looking out over it all. Perk of the job. As much Nuka-Cola Dark as you could drink. Didn't like that. That was how it started, the end of it all. He'd told her that shit. She hadn't heard him.

"Evenin', boss," he said, quietly.

Stella's head snapped to his, her leg hooked up over a knee and hand on her foot. She blinked, then pulled off mud-encrusted boots. After a minute of pulling at the pins in her hair, she loosed it and a cascade of tawny curls fell from the bun.

"Much better," she muttered, pouring herself toward the couch like she was about to fall down. He shifted his arm up onto the back of the couch, ignoring her.

"Gage," she said, moving in front of him, swaying slightly.

"Need somethin', boss?" he asked, turning his eye back onto her.

She lurched forward―his hand holding the bottle shot out to the side, the other up and ready to grab at the boss if she fell over―and crawled onto the couch. On top of him. He moved a hand in between the two of them, fingers hovering somewhere 'round her collarbone. Stella planted her knees to either side of his thighs and grabbed his armor, her eyes closed and mouth slightly parted.

"I've been _thinking,_ Gage," she slurred.

"That drunk, I doubt it's quality." Gage jammed his thumb into her collarbone and held her firmly away from him. "The hell are you doin', boss?"

"Mmm," she said, wavering sideways. "Must be lonely, being up here. Behind the man in charge, all that."

His throat rumbled. "I ain't needin' company," he said, keeping his voice stable. Kept his eye on her collarbone. She had some big scar there, going down her front. His eye wanted to follow the mangled skin, wondered how she'd gotten it.

"He doth protest too much," Stella mumbled, opening her blue eyes and staring down at him. She lowered herself onto his lap, her ass somewhere 'round his knees.

Gage loosed the bottle in his hand onto a side table, the resulting clatter loud in the room. "Just enough," he replied, moving his now-free hand up and holding her under the armpit, pulling her away from his legs.

Stella laughed, moving her hands up and rubbing her eyes, flipping her hair away from her face. "C'mon, Gage," she whined.

 _"Ain't_ no c'mon, you're drunk and I ain't in the mood for games," Gage answered. Voice went up an octave, he winced slightly at that.

"No game," Stella said. She sighed, putting her hands on his arms. "I'm lonely."

"You don't want nothing of this," Gage replied, lazily. "You need sleep, boss."

Stella moved her ass forward on his lap. He jerked backward slightly as she pressed her chest into his armor, draping her arms over his shoulders as best she could.

 _"Maybe,"_ she murmured, sighing.

"Ain't no maybe, either," Gage said. Not at all a fun place to be, trapped like that. Least this one wasn't gonna stab him or something.

He hoped. "Go sleep it off, boss." No reaction. Stella's head lolled on her shoulders, and a soft snorting noise came from her. Gage's throat rumbled again.

She went and passed out on his lap.

 _Well, shit._

* * *

"Boss, you awake?"

Stella jerked out of sleep with a flinch, recoiling from the sound. "Oh, Christ," she moaned, rubbing her eyes and feeling the pain. Why―fuck, she drank too much, yeah, okay, remembered it now. Fucking hangover! She buried her head under the rough straw pillow and made a pathetic noise.

"Maybe you aren't half as tough as I thought," Gage said.

 _"Go the hell away,"_ she groaned, squeezing the pillow onto her ears.

"Didn't we talk about that, now?"

Stella fought the awful bubbling of her stomach for a moment, thinking. Oh, hell. Gage didn't care much care for drinking. No wonder he was being so judgey. She uttered a long and low-toned moan and closed her eyes.

"What you plannin' today?" Gage asked, not letting up. "Somethin' less stupid?"

"Beauty sleep," she grumbled. "Maybe you need some, the mug on you."

"Real funny, boss," Gage answered, but his voice sounded lighter. "Seriously, though, c'mon. Got some shit goin' down over in the amphitheater."

"Oh, God, what, did Mason piss on someone and claim territory?" Stella whined, trying to ignore the pounding feeling in her head. She gagged a little.

"Somethin' like that." Gage was moving around in the tiny sleeping area.

"Can't _you_ handle it," she asked. Felt like if she moved, her stomach was going to violently propel itself out of her throat.

"I could," he answered. But he stayed in the corner where, if she opened her eyes and peeked out at him, she could see him leaning on the wall with his arms crossed.

"Oh, _fuck_ _you,_ Gage," she groaned, pushing herself upward. "You're really committed to this bullshit about staying in the back, aren't you?"

"It ain't bull," Gage replied, protesting lazily. "And I know you ain't like that."

Stella moved up onto her hands and knees, parking her ass on her heels and breathing out. "No," she muttered, forcing her stomach to behave. Everything was spinning, but slowly, like a rotted-out carousel and the horses were the four mounts of the Apocalypse. "I am no way prepared to get out of bed," she added, miserably.

"So I could kill you? No fightin' back?" Gage was eyeing her up.

"It might be _preferable,"_ she managed, dry heaving.

"Ain't no fun in that, is there," he said. His voice was loud, made her ears hurt. No more than the rest of her hurting, though.

Stella stared at the bed for a long moment, swallowing the bile that rose from her stomach. That was why she'd gone off, had a drink. Shouldn't have risked it inside the park. Who knew what them assholes out there would pull if they caught her all messed up, not with her just now being in power. Like two whole days it was. Gage seemed to like her just fine, and she'd gone and fucked it up.

She laughed at herself, breathing shallowly. How normal for her. The laugh turned into a shudder and a stifled sob.

"Look," he said, "ain't no need to get dramatic." He moved away from the wall. "I won't think nothin' of last night so long as you keep these punks in line."

Stella blinked, pushing herself up and frowning at him. "What happened last night?"

Gage stared at her. After a minute he opened and closed his mouth, then cleared his throat with a rumble. "Nothin', boss. Like I said." His head turned so that she couldn't see his eye, as he moved away from the bed area.

Oh, _Christ,_ and now she had that to worry about on top of everything else? Stella felt a cold shiver run down her back.

It was a long time before she managed to scrape herself from the mattress.


	3. Curbstomp

"Just a barrel of laughs, ain't it, boss."

Stella was leaning onto the wall near the Grille, one hand pressing into the plaster and the other clutching her stomach as if her guts might come spilling out. She dry heaved once, then twice, then let loose a vile torrent of the previous night's dinner accompanied by a blackish tar that she could only assume was the remainder of Nuka-Cola Dark and stomach acid.

 _"Mo-ther- **fuck** -er,"_ she enunciated, when she was able to talk again.

Gage snorted, leaning his back against the wall, a healthy distance away from her. He said nothing, watching the raiders who walked past them, some gawking and others choosing to continue their morning "constitutionals" somewhere else.

"Laugh it up, asshole," she groaned, leaning her forehead onto the plaster.

"I ain't the one who went and fucked up, now was I?" Gage turned a lazy eye on her. "Said it yourself. You weren't ready to get up. Shoulda stayed in bed."

"But, you sai―" Stella threw up onto the debris again, more violently. Christ, how much _did_ she drink!? _"Fuuuuuck,"_ she moaned, jamming her eyes shut.

Gage chuckled. Stella wished she could hit him, without her eyes going cross-ways in her face and her stomach flopping like a fish on dry land.

"The fuck is so funny," she groaned, turning her head to look at him. "You're the one what dragged me outta bed, _jackass!"_

"Think you're the first boss I had to threaten to get goin'?" Gage fixed his eye on her, and turned up a corner of his mouth. "Should know better than to listen to me, if this is how it's gonna be. Got you in this mess, to begin with."

"You asked me if I wanted to fucking live out the day," she shot back, dry heaving again. "Not if I wanted to be―the goddamn Overboss of the park!"

"I don't recall you doin' much complainin', either," he said, laconically.

"Fuck you, Gage," she managed, before her stomach stopped flopping about inside her. Stella pushed herself away from the wall, wiping her mouth and shaking her head at him.

He gave a funny little chuckle, but said nothing. Stella rubbed her eyes, and swore when she realized she'd smeared vomit on them. She looked up at Gage with a face that she hoped was not as pathetic as she felt. Gage's mouth twitched, staring back at her.

"What, no smart-ass remark?" she asked, after a moment of silence.

His mouth curled up into a wry smile. "Said my piece," he drawled, with finality.

"Good." She turned, slowly, and began to walk away.

 _Just fine._ Gage getting on her nerves was the least of her problems. No matter what, she had a good thing going here. Didn't need to screw this up, like she had back―

 _Back home._ Thought about that, for a time. Home was Boston, home was the house in Sanctuary Hills, home was Nate and Shaun. Didn't have a home anymore. Didn't have _Boston,_ didn't have the _house,_ didn't have _Nate._

Shaun. Stella's foot faltered when she stepped down, her legs suddenly weak. Fuck. She hadn't even _found_ him. Found the fucker that killed Nate. Wasn't much left of him when she was done; Memari couldn't even use that thing in Kellogg's head because she'd curbstomped him one _too_ many times...

She couldn't even find Shaun. She couldn't―couldn't do _anything,_ good. Couldn't even find her fucking son―

Stella swallowed, her face pinched in and eyes sharp on the raiders that walked about Nuka-Town, heading toward the amphitheater.

* * *

"Fucking _seriously?"_

Stella stared at Mason's ridiculous mustache as he talked. Some incredibly _stupid_ bullshit with the Pack and Operators. If it came down to her decision... she should have dragged both parties off their thrones and bashed their heads together like the idiots that they were. As it was, she'd have to sort through the lies and bullshittery just to figure out what had actually _happened._

 _And_ there was that implication that Gage had made, earlier. Her head still pounded with a hangover headache. She grimaced. No. Didn't want to go over that. _Ignore it. Just... no._

"I don't care what you did," Stella started off, rubbing her forehead. "I don't give a flying fuck what you _think_ you were doing, either. You're going to stop. Right. _Now."_

Mason's eyes flicked quickly to Gage and back to her. Yeah, she was done with _that,_ too. Every single time she'd gone against the Raiders here, they'd looked to Gage like he was really in charge. From what she'd been told, Colter got lazy enough to delegate everything to Gage, and so he'd been seen as the power behind the throne.

He probably _was_ the real deal. Stella hated that. She had to―she growled under her breath, every ounce of her patience gone in a flash. Had to stay on her damn toes around here. What was her life worth, if she fucked _this_ up? There was nothing go back to―

She had the knife in one hand and Mason's neckline in the other before she'd really understood her own thoughts. _Instinctual._ Bet the Pack leader liked it that way, if he was gonna cow to her. Bet he _liked_ having some alpha bitch putting him down.

Stella grinned and pressed the knife into the underside of his chin, spitting on him for having such impudence as to doubt her authority.

That was what these people needed. Some god mode Overboss with a heavy hand and a will to push them into action. Gage could do what he did behind the scenes so much better if she was the omnipresent threat in the park. Worked better that way... if they'd stop thinking _Gage_ was the real power behind the throne.

He wasn't. Stella _fucking_ Cary _**was.**_

Mason muttered something amenable to her ears. She lowered the knife, but kept her eyes on his. "Do you really think I'm that stupid?" she snapped, her hand still entwined into the bone necklace he wore. "You listen good and you listen _now._ The Pack is gonna need a new goddamn _Alpha_ if you don't."

Mason stared at her, then nodded. Stella let go of him, backing up by a step. "No more bullshit, Mason," she spat. "Stay out of Operator turf."

"Yeah," he said, leaning back in his "throne". The look in his eyes gave her no clue of his true intent other than the undertone of interest.

"Let's go," she grumbled to Gage, her feet hitting the stairs before he'd even noticed.

* * *

Operators played their pretty little dance. Boss dealt with them in the same way she had before, pretending innocence. Obviously Mags knew better, but Stella watched her with the same cunning eye that she'd laid on Mason.

Gage wondered why she was so angry, but shrugged it off. Colter had temper tantrums, too. Nothing new under the sun.

At the end Mags was less than happy with what Stella gave her as options. It was a shakedown. Always had been. Overboss didn't make friends in Nuka-World. Didn't want to, or need to. Gage's mouth curled up into a wry smile.

If she could keep the drinking to a minimum, they were in for a beautiful friendship.

He watched her moving out of the building, legs unsteadily picking through the debris just outside of the door. She stopped outside the Grille to throw up into a trash can. "God-fucking- _dammit,"_ she groaned, beating her head off of the plastic rim and screwing up her face.

Gage crossed his arms over his chest, cocked a lone eyebrow at her, and made hisself look half-pissed. Took a lot to make him angry, really. Had so many years invested in wiggling 'round under the bosses, learned hisself some _real_ patience.

"Go make yourself useful, Gage," Stella mumbled, "and find me a fucking pistol to shoot myself with. I'm _done."_

Gage chuckled and shook his head at her. "Don't think that's right," he said. "How 'bout a Nuka-Cola, instead?"

"SONUVA―" she heaved into the can again, slapping her hand against the side and growling angrily. _"BITCH!"_ She pulled backward, leaning onto the can and glaring at him. "I'm done! Okay?! Put a bullet in my head, I'm fucking done!"

Gage watched her heaving, shifting his weight. After another moment or two, she stood up and pulled a combat knife out of her pocket. Oh, _hell._ Knew where this was going.

"I wouldn't advise that one, boss," he said, seriously. Colter tried the same bullshit, once. Once, and Gage let him have his fun. Nursed a gimp arm for a few days, let Colter strut about thinking he'd won.

Coulda kicked his lily-white ass any time he wanted. Didn't want to. Didn't want to kick Stella's either, not just because beating the Overboss meant he had applied for and been hired for a job he didn't particularly _want._ Gage watched her adjusting the knife in her hand and turn to him, her face lined with dried vomit. Pale, sweating in the mid-day sun and swinging a foot back behind her.

First woman boss he'd seen last longer than a day, and here she was 'bout to try to rip him a new one. Like she actually _could_ beat his ass in a fist fight, putting up that cock of the walk attitude again. He fought a grin coming 'cross his face, at the thought.

Shit, and he was gonna let her, no question. Be the first time he'd ever let hisself get beat up by a _woman._

Couldn't help but laugh at that. Gage moved his hands to his hips, threw his head back and let loose a loud bellow, until his stomach started to hurt and his eye was watering with tears. Her first hit was right in the gut, goddammit, but he let her have that one 'fore he stepped to the right and watched her sprawl face-first in the dirt. Held a hand to his stomach, wincing at the puncture wound, and fixed her with a knowing look.

"You get that outta your system, boss?" he asked, mildly. "You don't mind, I'd like to go have a sit, maybe fix this."

Stella breathed out, sending up a puff of dust from the ground, then pried herself from the dirt and straightened herself out. Sheathed the knife, wiggled her arms out, and brushed off her front before turning to him.

"Yeah, let's go do that, Gage," she said, her voice hazy but calm, strolling past him into the Grille like weren't nothing happened.

Gage followed, a rumble starting deep in his throat. Damned if she _hadn't_ stabbed him.

 _Well, shit._


	4. Stitch

_"Sh―"_ he jerked back from her, one massive hand wrapped around her wrist and the other gripping a bottle of Nuka-Cola Orange like he was gonna smash her in the head with it. Paused, his hand tightening on her wrist, before she slapped at him.

"Stop it," she said, frowning. "Seriously, Gage, if you want to save the stimpak, you better let me stitch this shit." She'd paused with her fingers inside the wound, slippery with blood and the tip of the needle just barely through the muscle.

"I ain't keen on being sewn," he replied, somewhat crossly, loosing her and lowering the bottle.

Stella glanced up at him, meeting his hazel one in an awkward grumpy stare. She flushed and looked away quickly, focusing on the wound. "Well, I ain't _apologizing,"_ she muttered, threading the needle through his skin nervously.

Gage had a lot of scars but none on his chest or stomach. The cage he wore kept people from getting at the good bits, she supposed. He leaned back on the couch, naked from the waist-up, his throat rumbling. She could feel the vibrations all the way through his stomach, almost like he was a purring cat. Big fucking cat, too. _Big._

Her face felt warm. She was in a very conspicuous position, kneeling next to him on the filthy couch and trying not to lose her balance. If she did, she was either falling onto the dirty upholstery―and would have to disinfect again―or she was going face-first into his lap. She didn't want to imagine the latter.

Stella pushed the needle through fully, trying to focus on her task, as Gage popped the cap off of the Orange with one hand and drank. She looked up again, distracted by the sound.

His Adam's apple bobbed, swallowing the liquid abruptly and letting out a hoarse cough. "Look what you're _doin'!"_ he yelled, pushing her hand off his stomach and looking down at himself. Fresh blood overlaid the old, the needle sticking halfway out of his skin and half-embedded in the muscle underneath.

Stella sat back on her ankles and stared at the sight, her eyebrows drawn together and mouth pursed. It shouldn't be this difficult to stitch up the six-inch slice wound; she hadn't even gone that deep with the knife, not even far enough to hit any organs. Gage thumped the bottle down onto a table nearby and held out his hands in a "what the fuck" kind of gesture, then reached for the needle―

 _"Don't touch it!"_ she snapped, before he laid a finger onto the metal. She flushed at his immediate glare and breathed out, carefully. "Your hands aren't clean. Could get sepsis."

"Shit," he said, gesturing at the wound. "Goddamn, boss, it ain't that hard to figure out."

"It is if you don't hold _still!"_ she hissed, moving back up and reaching for the needle. Gage jerked out a hand and grabbed her by the wrist again, fixing a look on her like he wanted to eat her or something. Stella blanched, but recovered quickly enough. "Knock that shit _off,_ Gage!"

Gage released her again, leaning back on the couch and putting a foot up onto his knee. Like that didn't make it harder, _fuck._ Stella took a deep breath and sighed through her nose, pinching in her mouth and teasing the needle back through his skin.

"Thought you said you was a doctor," he mentioned, the vibration back in his stomach and passing through to her fingers.

"I was a veterinary assistant," she said, looping the line back around. "Before I took law school."

"The hell is that, then, if it ain't a doctor," he asked, his head turned away from her.

"Stitched up dogs, shit like that," she answered, pushing the needle through again. She pulled the wound shut, looking it over before tying off the line. "Never did a person, before."

Gage chuckled, then groaned lowly. "All kind of firsts, today," he muttered, picking the Orange back up and drinking from it again.

She packed up the supplies and grabbed a piece of gauze, pouring vodka on it before she moved to hover over his stomach. "This is gonna _hurt,"_ she said, looking up at him and trying to hide a grin.

"Hurt when you stabbed me, now didn't it?" he replied, dryly, turning his eye to the ceiling. "Get on with it, boss. I ain't like to _cry."_

Stella didn't look away from his face, jabbing him with the alcohol-soaked gauze and holding it onto the stitches, watching him squirm. Grunted and made a weird rolling motion with his eye before he settled, and she gently swabbed the area. "Well, you earned it," she noted, tossing the bloodied gauze and sitting back onto her ankles.

"Sure, boss," he said, sounding amused but pained. "Whatever you say."

The _nerve!_ She froze in place for a brief moment, then laid a hand onto his knee and pushed herself up as hard as she could. Stared down at him sitting on the couch and narrowed her eyes, feeling her temper rising.

She'd had more than enough stab wounds of her own, more than enough fights she'd lost on a technicality, more than enough round twos and threes than she _needed._ But she had to―he was getting on her case, again! If she didn't give him hell for that, he'd never lay off―never let her be―

Wished she knew what possessed her to fight tooth and nail, but it didn't fucking matter, did it?! Always fucked it up, no matter where she went, lost her head, made people mad, and sometimes they stabbed _back―_ so why bother trying to save it, anyway!?

"You saying you wanna go round _two?!"_ she asked, her voice rising with each word. _You're a fucking idiot, Stella, but at least you follow through. But seriously, bitch, quit!_

"Nah, boss," Gage breathed out, looking bored. "Think we know who'd win."

Stella's rage, bubbling up, cooled off at his concession. "Yeah, we do, _don't we."_ She felt the anger draining from her, ending up somewhere near her feet. He was _learning._ That was moderately satisfying.

He didn't answer, taking another drink of Nuka-Cola Orange and seriously contemplating the vase sitting on the table near him. Like it was the most interesting thing he'd seen in _ages._

She stomped off, moving behind the bar area and kneeling under the counter. Grabbed up a bottle of liquor, had one hand on the cap before she thought twice about it. Her guts were begging her, already, not to drink any more―much as she didn't want to listen―and she knew better than to chase a hangover like that with a second one.

Stella peeked out over the edge of the counter, watching Gage as he looked down at his stomach with a curious look, poking at the reddened edges of the stitches and frowning. She hadn't had a chance to dress the wound yet, and he was already tempting fate. She stood up, carrying the bottle to the couch and popping the cap on the liquor.

"I told you not to touch it," she said, tipping the bottle up and pouring some onto the site.

Gage made an agitated noise, pushing himself up from the couch and removing the bottle from her hand as he dropped the Orange to the floor. Sticky syrup poured over the battered wood as he grabbed the bottle from her and tossed it out of the open elevator area, his other hand on her collarbone and pushing her backward roughly.

Stella stepped backward, tumbling onto her ass. She grunted in pain, bony ass impacting the hard floor, skidding across it slightly before she caught herself by grabbing the edge of the couch.

Gage grimaced, looking down at his stomach, then glanced up at her. His face moved back to the neutral face he usually wore. He stared at her for a tense moment, her clutching at the couch and returning the look with her own indignant one.

"Boss," he said, reaching out a hand and bending to help her.

"Don't _fucking_ _ **touch**_ _me,"_ she snarled, hoisting herself up and turning toward the doors. Stormed across the floor and down the stairwell, wishing she could slam the doors behind her―kicked the bottom ones with all her force before she stumbled into the wall and slid down, hitting it with the heel of her fist and loosing a stream of obscenities.

Same shit, different day. Stella pressed her forehead into the crumbling plaster and squeezed her eyes shut against the massive headache forming in her head, shutting out what she could.

It _never_ fucking mattered. She'd screwed shit up with the Minutemen from the start. Fought with Marcy, kept giving drugs to the old bitch. Wasn't too much of that before Sturges had her by the back of her shirt, pulling her off Garvey after she'd tried to scratch his goddamn eyes out―

All over his need for her to be some kind of fool figurehead. Wasn't her place to take up that mantle, not with her past. _Asshole._

She'd lost her chance with Nick―goddamn reputations and all, him on a high horse she couldn't even count how many hands high―even tried to get in good with Railroad, learn more about synths―fucking lot of good that did her! Just left a trail of bodies behind her, how many, synths or not, she'd never know.

Wasn't even gonna bother trying out the Brotherhood. Laughed at that one, thinking about it. Even Nate knew she wasn't _that._

But it didn't matter. Stella removed herself from the wall and left the building. She couldn't un-fuck this one, either. Might as well go live it up while she _could._


End file.
